


Anti-hero

by Impromptu_Bagel



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Widowtracer if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 15:45:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11062098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impromptu_Bagel/pseuds/Impromptu_Bagel
Summary: She may not be a hero to the world, but she can save one.





	Anti-hero

King's Row, London. 11:38pm

Lena looked at Tracer in the mirror. Looked, imagining that if she looked hard enough she could see the cracks in the bubbly mask she put up in front of the others.

  
Turning away, she went and sat on her bed. In the corner of her vision, her bedside table sat in the dim blue light of her chronal accelerator. Cold heat ran through her veins, and a pressure built in her chest, as she glared at the innocent looking piece of furniture. Well, not at the table itself. More what was inside the drawer.

  
A breeze tousled her famously messy hair from the open window as she sat there, torn between need and hatred. Hatred towards the scientists that saved her, hatred towards the engineers that cocked up the bloody Slipstream in the first place, and most of all... hatred towards herself for needing this.  
Growling, she lurched forwards, yanking the drawer open, swearing as she hit herself in the hip with the handle in her rush. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she hoped, prayed that it wasn't there.  
Dammit.

  
A razor blade sat there, on top of a book, metal glinting in the low light. Reaching out with trembling fingers, calloused from war, she picked up the blade.

  
Resting back on her bed, she gently placed the keen edge on the inside of her arm. One quick pull, maybe two, and she'd stop. She didn't need this. She didn't need this. She didn't need this.

  
Before she could pull the edge across her skin, thunder echoed across the city. But this wasn't normal thunder. Normal thunder wouldn't make her heart pick up, wouldn't put a burst of adrenaline in her veins, wouldn't make her fingers twitch in excitement.

  
No, this thunder was artificial, man made. This thunder came from a rifle, and judging by the billowing curtains, ruffled hair and bullet hole in the wall above Lena's head, it came from the infamous Widow's Kiss.  
Sure enough, three flat blocks away, a tall slender figure stood, seven glowing red eyes staring into Lena's soul.

  
All thoughts of cutting vanished from Lena's mind. Her thoughts focused like a laser, and she leapt off of her balcony. The chase begins. There was no need for Tracer here, no need for her mask. Here, on the edge of mortality, running the line between life and death, chasing terror in high heels (Reaper be damned, the old man was more sad than anything) Lena could be herself, riding the adrenaline, loving the thump of her heartbeat.

Later

Lena slept peacefully, the razor forgotten on the floor. Her window left open, for no thief could climb to the 5th floor. Well, the slim shadow stood tall on her balcony was no thief. Heels silenced against carpet, the shadow stooped, picking up the razor.

Golden eyes sharper than a hawk's examined it, before long fingers, designed for piano playing, flicked it out of the window.  
Taking a glance at the sleeping figure, the figure turned, gracefully vaulting the railing of the balcony, leaving no trace but a whispered 'Adieu chérie', soon carried away by the breeze.


End file.
